Iron Souls: Rebirth
by Robert Richardson
Summary: The wandering knight Caithas Ildhenn finds himself stranded on the desert island of Furias, with nothing to his name but his armor, his blade, and the accursed Darksign upon his neck. He must journey through the lands of this shattered world that Gwyn's sacrifice left behind in order to find his own path, but his actions carry more weight than he could ever imagine...
1. Chapter 1

_In an age that has long since been largely forgotten, the world was unformed and shrouded by fog. Colossal, nigh-immortal archtrees and Everlasting Dragons, stalwart beasts of this bygone time, ruled this ancient world unchallenged. But, all things must come to their end, and the birth of the First Flame was the beginning of the end of this era. With this Flame came Light and Dark, life and death, order and disparity, and all things associated with these balances. And with the Flame was born humanity, the ancient ancestors of those who now inhabit the lands forged in the wake of destruction. These humans found the Souls of Lords within the primeval Flame, and with the power within these souls, they rose up to challenge the Everlasting Dragons and their reign._

 _Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, alongside his firstborn and his trusted knights, hurled lightning bolts with the force of a thousand thrown javelins, piercing the hides and scales of the great dragons. Nito, the First of the Dead and the Gravelord, unleashed a terrible miasma of death and disease that shredded the archtrees, weakening their roots and damaging them greatly. The death-blow of the archtrees was dealt by the Witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos, who weaved great and terrible firestorms that burned up the ancient trees in a tumultuous and total annihilation. And even the Everlasting Dragons were not immune to treachery, as one of their own, the mortal dragon Seath the Scaleless, turned upon his own kind and set the stage for the near-extinction of the Everlasting Dragons._

 _And thus ended this fog-shrouded Age of Ancients, and thus began the rise of the prosperous Age of Fire, a time ruled by Lord Gwyn, his family, and the sun-bathed citadel of Anor Londo. But, of course, this age would never truly last forever, as Gwyn's firstborn betrayed his father by allying with the few remaining Everlasting Dragons, and for his treachery was stricken from history, his name reduced to less than nothing. When the First Flame began to sputter and die, the Witch of Izalith and her daughters sought to create a flame that would supplant the First Flame, and for her horrific sin became a birthing bed for demons of all kinds, every daughter but one transformed into terrible, ravenous monsters that barely held any traces of their humanity. In his research of the path to immortality, Seath the Scaleless lost his mind and went fully insane, capturing human maidens and turning them into horrible creatures known to him as Pisacas, tentacled beasts that were unrecognizable from what they had once been. The Four Kings of New Londo, to whom Gwyn had given a fragment of his Soul, were tempted by the Art of Lifedrain, and thus condemned New Londo to a watery grave that would prove to be senseless, as the Darkwraiths and the Kings survived despite the Sealers' best efforts._

 _The Age of Fire was coming to its close, and the world was falling apart, and so Gwyn departed for the Flame's kiln with a legion of his knights. And in doing so, he sacrificed himself to act as fuel for the First Flame, prolonging the end of the world by centuries as a sort of selfless sacrifice that would have earned him sympathy in the hearts of those who learned of him. It was not long after this that the first true human-ruled lands began to rise, with the island desert of Furias in the Five-Finger Delta, the great kingdom of Larandal that would eventually fracture into the lands of Astora, Balder, and Oolacile, the isolationist mountain duchy of Naur, and the bizarro kingdom of Catarina, famed for its knights who wore onion-esque armor._

 _Of course, not every land was habitable, as the intensely hot deserts of the Far East proved all but insurmountable for the most hardy of adventurers and settlers, and the southern continent proved no better, as those who dared to venture forth never returned, having been swallowed up and devoured by colossal monsters. Even for those lands that were inhabited by mankind, it was no easy feat to survive, as demons and curses struck in destructive swathes, leaving behind little._

 _And as the Age of Ancients began to draw to its close, so did the Age of Fire, as despite the sacrifice of Gwyn, the First Flame began to die down once again. Humanity began to dwindle as a result, former bastions of safety and civilization left empty and ruined, entire countrysides left to be dominated by the horrors that would rise. And if this were not enough, Gwyn's old sins would come to haunt many of the remaining humans in the form of the Darksign. In the battle against the Everlasting Dragons, ancient humanity had stood alongside Gwyn and his compatriots, but for their efforts were cursed with a seal of fire that restrained their innate darkness, and set the stage for their descendants to inherit this as the Undead curse. Hollows began to rise, decimating these already wounded kingdoms even further, causing many of them to truly fall into wrack and ruin._

 _Yet, not all was lost, as humanity strove to try to survive despite the horrific circumstances levied at them. They fought tooth and nail to ensure their survival, sending knights to the land of Lordran to try to find a successor to Lord Gwyn and prolong the Age of Fire. The machinations of the Kingseeker, Frampt, would ensure a successor would eventually step into the Kiln, strike down Gwyn, and give their life so that the First Flame would stay alight, if even for a moment longer. And even then, whispers were spoken of a fabled City of the Gods named Thil Akran that lay deep within the heart of Larandal, never seen by the eyes of man. Many adventurers went out to Larandal to seek out Thil Akran, but none returned, either having been claimed by the Undead curse, slain by the wandering monstrosities of Larandal, or destroyed by their own greed and pride._

 _The knight Caithas Ildhenn was among these adventurers, having sought passage from his island homeland of Arnbeld to the desert isle of Furias, and when he arrived in Furias, he was unaware that his actions would hold a far greater weight than he could have possibly imagined. Let now this tale of a world in ruin be told, this great and terrible tragedy come to form._

The sound of ocean waves washing up against a shoreline was the very first thing that struck the mind of Caithas Ildhenn, and the second was the sensation of the ice-cold seawater washing over his flesh. The knight briefly panicked, and scrambled out of the water in a flurry of limbs, spraying ocean water hither and thither as he plowed through coarse sands, hands and feet digging in an attempt to get him some distance in-land. After a moment of this panic, Caithas fell onto his side, panting wildly in an attempt to catch his breath, eyes darting back and forth as if he had just awoken. In a sense, he seemed to have just awoken, as he held no memory of even washing ashore, or of even having come here in the first place. The knight turned himself so that his face was parallel with the sand below him, and pushed himself up, hoisting himself off of the ground as he did so. He rose first to his knees, then to his feet, looking down at his armor as he did so, armored hands idly brushing away wet sand.

As Caithas looked down at his silvery steel-plated gauntlets, he felt a sharp, intense pain flare up on the back of his neck, and he groaned as he reached up to feel at it, shuddering a bit at the touch of cold metal. He brought his left hand, which he had risen to touch at this particular spot on his neck, back into view, and blanched as he noticed blood staining the palm and fingers of his gauntlet. "The Darksign," he muttered to himself in a voice that sounded hoarse and worn ragged, as if he hadn't spoken in a very long time. "I've been afflicted with the curse of the Undead, by the look and feel of it. No wonder that I can't remember how I ended up here in this strange place, laying in seawater..." He quickly dispelled this thought as he cast his gaze around this unfamiliar shoreline, raising his helmet's visor in order to give himself a clearer view. His skin was pale, incredibly so, and a pair of emerald-green eyes scanned around, trying to find a clue as to how he may have ended up here.

His eyes soon took notice of some flotsam on the shore, and as he turned to get a better look, he groaned aloud as he saw what appeared to be a destroyed ship bearing the crest of Arnbeld. "Aww, no..." He fell to his knees, simply staring at the remains of what had presumably been his means of arriving on this accursed shore. "The damned passenger ship that I was on must have been beached by a storm, by the way the ship appears to be damaged. Looks like I've got little choice but to keep pushing forward, here, because I don't think anyone else is around." Caithas began to move towards the ship, hoping to salvage something to make use of as a weapon in this strange and unfamiliar land. "I'm hoping at least someone left a sword in here or something, as if I don't get a weapon to defend myself with, I'm dead meat."

After a moment of walking, Caithas completed his short journey across the sands to the beached ship, and he kicked aside some loose planks as he stepped in what had once been the cargo hold. A lot of the barrels and crates inside looked as if they had been severely damaged by the water, as mold had taken hold on most of the wood, which in turn gave off a smell that caused Caithas to grit his teeth in disgust. He pushed forward despite this, stepping over boards that stuck up almost vertically, the creaking of rotted wood seemingly roaring in the near-silence of the cargo hold.

Caithas soon found a crate with its top ajar, and he reached down for it, pushing the top of the crate to the side as he made to peer into it. Within was a sheathed shortsword, the crest of a knight of Arnbeld decorating the leather of the sheath. Caithas grinned wickedly as he reached into the crate and retrieved the sword from within, and after he did so, he reached up to the hilt and began to pull it from the sheath. His expression of satisfaction fell to slight dismay as he noticed the sword was somewhat rusted, no doubt due to the passage of time and the fact that seawater had likely washed over it. As he looked more closely at his newfound weapon, he noticed that the sheath itself was badly damaged, being torn and barely held together by the sword that had rested within. It was better than nothing, though, and Caithas swiftly sheathed the sword and attached it to his belt, hooking it on after a moment of fumbling.

He made his way out of the ship's hold, and emerged from the moldy interior to see a man hunched over a large pile of wood, groaning and moaning rather loudly. Caithas was rather unnerved by this, so he brought down his right hand to rest upon the hilt of his blade as a preparation for a potential fight. The knight slowly moved forward, speaking slowly and calmly, "Hello there, are you alright? Do you need any sort of help?"

The man turned almost instantly to Caithas, a sickening snap filling the air as a twisted visage locked eyes with the knight's own. The man's skin looked taut and incredibly stretched, as if he had been nearly starved to death, his eyes a pair of terrifying black voids. There was no doubt in Caithas's mind that this man was a Hollow, someone who had succumbed to a lack of purpose and had gone mad due to the influence of the very same curse he was afflicted with, that so many others had been afflicted with. Caithas quickly took note of the broken blade that the Hollow held in its hands, and drew his shortsword in response. He lowered his visor, aiming to protect his face in the battle that would very shortly commence.

The Hollow charged down Caithas, groaning in a strange, gurgling tone, and it eagerly swiped its weapon at Caithas's chest. The knight jumped backwards to evade the blow, and rushed forward as a response, swinging at the Hollow's sword arm. Caithas's blade dug into the Hollow's upper arm, and the beast screamed out as its arm went limp, its hand convulsing as it let go of the broken weapon that it had held. As the knight attempted to draw his sword out from the creature's arm, it grabbed onto his shoulder with its still-working arm, and headbutted him as hard as it could, sending the knight staggering backwards and consequently breaking the Hollow's nose. Both combatants staggered backwards, Caithas from the force of the headbutt, and the Hollow from the fact that it had just hurt itself quite a bit in attacking Caithas.

Fortunately for Caithas, this Hollow wasn't particularly intelligent, as it charged him again, its good hand outstretched in an attempt to grab him again. The knight did not let this come to pass again, as he stepped out of the Hollow's way and yanked his sword from the creature's shoulder, rewarded with the Hollow stopping in its tracks and grabbing onto its wounded flesh. Caithas took the opportunity to lunge forward and dig his sword point-first into the Hollow's chest, impaling it and running it through in one swift movement. The Hollow went rigid, gurgling out a death-rattle as it began to sink to its knees, almost dragging the knight down with it in the process. Caithas quickly planted a foot on the Hollow's chest as leverage, and yanked his sword from the creature's body as it fell back to the sand below, blood trickling out and staining it red.

Caithas looked down at his sword, a sense of calm flowing through him as he knelt and wiped the blade off on the Hollow's flesh. He had been trained to fight in such situations, and while he hadn't been specifically trained to combat the victims of the Undead curse, he had known to fight hard and fast, aiming to kill swiftly. He stood up straight and sheathed his blade, turning away from his kill to observe where he was, raising his visor once again. He saw the ruins of what appeared to be a gladiatorial coliseum in the distance, and he lowered his visor. "So that must be where I need to go if I wish to get off of this island," he murmured as he began to move towards the ruined building. Caithas took note of the fact that it looked as if it had crumbled due to the influence of time, and this brought up a troublesome predicament for the knight. "How long was I unconscious like that...?" He brought a hand up to the bottom of his helmet, as if miming scratching his chin.

Before he got much further, he was interrupted out of his reverie by what seemed to be the sands exploding in front of him, causing him to stagger backwards as he began to look around frenetically, attempting to find what had just caused this sudden movement. As the sand that had been blasted into the bright blue sky began to settle, Caithas found himself gazing upon a monstrosity that coiled itself like a snake, with the upper torso of a man, and a yellow-scaled, serpentine lower body wrapped tightly beneath. The torso of this creature had elongated claws on its hands, and they were stained with blood, as if it had just made a kill not long before it had discovered the knight.

"That's..." Caithas stammered to himself, "That's a man-wurm!" The man-wurm screeched in an ear-splitting tone as it lunged towards the knight, claws arcing towards his armor. Caithas was barely able to roll out of the way as the forty-foot-long man-wurm rushed past in a flurry of claws, having failed to strike a blow on the knight. As quickly as it had attacked, it whipped around to face Caithas again, and began to slither through the sand at high speed, aiming its claws to slice upwards and wound the knight. Caithas quickly drew his sword and jumped towards the man-wurm's face, managing to stomp on it and distract it from its attack. It screeched again and smashed the knight's chestplate with a back-hand, sending him flying backwards and rolling through the sand. Caithas coughed and gasped for air from the force of the attack, which barely gave him time to react to what came next.

The man-wurm burrowed underneath the ground for a moment before exploding out again, its claws outstretched as it fell from the air towards Caithas. Its form was framed by the sun, giving it a sinister, shadowy look as it descended. The knight swiped his sword vertically at the monster's face as he jumped back to evade the claws, and he felt his sword quite nearly get jerked out of his hands from the blow. The man-wurm crashed upon the ground, screaming as it grasped at its face, blood running down a clawed hand. Caithas moved quickly, and stabbed his sword into the man-wurm's hand, causing it to focus its attention on its hand, its other hand swiping feebly at the knight

Caithas withdrew his blade and smashed the hilt of the sword into the man-wurm's nose, shattering it and causing the beast to reel backwards in pain. The knight slashed the creature across the face twice before he buried the sword deep into its eye. The man-wurm let out one last pained howl before it collapsed, dragging Caithas down to the ground with it. It squirmed a few times as Caithas removed his blade from its face, its arm weakly reaching out as the knight rose from the sand. After a moment of it breathing heavily, the beast went still, its life seemingly snuffed out by the knight. Caithas frowned a bit as he made to sheath his blade, thoughts of uncertainty flooding into his head. _I can't have just slain something that fearsome so easily, right?_

As if to prove his point, the man-wurm lunged up from the sand and raged towards Caithas, screaming as loud as it possibly could. Caithas calmly removed his sword from his sheath and readied it, and as the man-wurm drew close, he loosed a single stroke at the beast's neck. It charged forward for a moment longer, and then fell onto the sand for good, twitching and gurgling as its life came to a close. Caithas sheathed his sword once more, and looked over at the terrifying mix of man and sandwurm as it died. He quickly turned his mind from the monster he had just struck down, and looked towards the ruined coliseum that he had laid eyes on before the creature had ambushed him.

"If I'm going to get off this island," Caithas mused, "it looks like I'll have to head there. I just hope I don't end up running into any more of those man-wurms, one of them was troublesome enough..." And with that, the knight began to stride towards the coliseum, unaware of the danger that lurked within...


	2. Chapter 2

_The Arnbeld-born knight Caithas Ildhenn washed up on the shore of the island desert of Furias, unaware that the passage of time had caused civilization there to collapse. He ventured into the wreck of the ship that had brought him to Furias, procured a sword, then encountered a Hollow, and later, a terrible fusion between man and sandwurm. Now he journeys into the twisted ruin of the old coliseum of Furias, said to hold a ruined remnant of what once was a mighty champion of this dead land. If Caithas wishes to find passage to Larandal, he may well have to face this monstrosity down. Let now this tale of a world in ruin be told, this great and terrible tragedy come to form._

Caithas Ildhenn raised his helmet's visor, and restrained himself from swallowing spittle as his nerves began to play up at the sight of the molded stones of the coliseum. The colossus of an arena loomed above not only the desert below, but also the entire island, and Caithas knew that his only paths would be to either traverse the ruin before him, or face potential death at the claws of more man-wurms. He didn't even know if more of those accursed beasts lurked on Furias, but he decided that it would be better safe than sorry, and chose the coliseum instead.

Before him lay stones that somehow grew moss upon their aged, weathered surfaces, traces of long-since-dried blood spattered beneath the greenery. Perhaps in a time long before his own, this coliseum had hosted dozens, if not hundreds of gladiatorial bouts, but all it was good for now was standing as a monument to a long-lost land. If this weren't enough to worry Caithas, a sun-beaten skeleton bearing a piece of parchment of some sort within its hand sat next to the dim, darkened entrance of the coliseum. The knight strode over to the skeleton, and knelt, observing the way its hand clutched the parchment, and then noticed the way its ribs seemed to be shattered. "They died clutching this note," mused Caithas with a frown, "and it never reached its intended recipient. Looks like they took a hammer of some sort to the chest, from the way their bones are scattered below their remains. An unfortunate end for a most unfortunate soul, and I pray that they met with their gods as swiftly and as painlessly as possible."

Caithas plucked the note from the skeleton's hand and unfurled it, scanning it over with his eyes, and it read as thus: " _Elder Darmaron, something is gravely wrong here on the sacred island, on sacred Furias. The works of the confessor have not acted as a boon to our people, as you foretold, but rather as a bane. Our people are transformed into these monsters made of wurm and flesh, stripped of sanity and reason! And to worsen the matter, our current gladiatorial champion, Magnus, has fallen prey to the corruption of his Naur-forged blade, and has become a mindless beast. Destruction runs rampant because of the confessor, and yet we act too late, as even now our land faces certain doom. I have sent Chulas to deliver this note to you, for I will soon be beset by those abominations born from the works of sin. Gods guide you, and may they deliver us from this hell that the confessor has delivered. From Grithis."_

Caithas stood up, still clutching the parchment in his hand, looking down at the skeleton below him. "So, this must have been the Chulas that this note mentioned. Such a shame that he never got further than this point. Still, I can only wonder who or what this confessor is, for they seemed to pose a threat to Furias. Does this mean that Furias has fallen to destruction, as so many other lands have...?" The knight dropped the note on the ground and looked up at the stones of the coliseum, a sense of apprehension and mourning coursing through him. It was then that he realized that he stood upon the soil of a long dead land, cast away to its own annihilation.

He finally gathered his nerves up enough to force himself forwards, and so he stepped past the skeleton of Chulas and into the coliseum of Furias. As Caithas entered in, he saw that it was not as dark as he believed it to be, as sunlight streamed between cracks and rifts in the stones that had been once so carefully placed. A faint smell of moss hit him, and it reminded him of better times as he breathed in the grass-like scent. The knight pressed forward, nearly tripping over a shattered block of stone, and he looked down to see a fragmented skull next to it. The sight sent a chill down his spine, but he ignored this as best as he could as he continued to trek forward through the coliseum.

He laid eyes upon a great gate that seemed to be made for a gladiator to step through, and he walked up to it. He noticed a stone lever to the left of the iron bars, and grasped it with both hands, pulling it down to try to open the gate. To his frustration, it refused to budge, causing the knight to grunt out as he tried to move the lever. No matter how hard he tried, it simply would not move, and Caithas staggered backwards out of frustration, eyeballing the lever with anger in his eyes.

"You!" A harsh whisper snapped Caithas out of his foul mood, and the knight whirled around, sword drawn. "Knight, you who are cursed with the mark of the damned. The gate that lies before you requires a key to its lever, and without it, you shall not find your path. Even with this knowledge, it would be a show of poor judgment to pass through, since a great and terrible monster lurks beyond those iron bars."

Caithas looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, and when this failed, he called out, "Show yourself! Who are you?"

"A cursed form it is that I hold, and though I will deign to show it to you, it is not my own. You may well forget it before your life bleeds out from your throat..." The voice cackled as one of the stones shifted above Caithas, and the knight jumped out of the way of an emaciated man leaning down out of the makeshift hole that had just been made, who then dropped down to the stones below. The man landed on his hands, the sounds of cracking bones heard as he contorted himself around so he could get to his feet from his undoubtedly agonizing position. He spoke again, his voice raspy and aged: "Again, I say: This body is not my own, as I hold it in my distant grasp from the looming Watchtower. Who are you, traveler, and what drives you to venture through fallen Furias?"

Caithas looked incredulously at the near-Hollow man in front of him, looking over the taut, stretched flesh, those familiar blackened voids matching those of the Hollow he had slain near the shipwreck. "I am Caithas Ildhenn, knight of Arnbeld, and I came to Furias in search of passage to Larandal. My ship was wrecked before I arrived, and I awoke on the shoreline near this place, so now I have come to this coliseum in hopes of finding a way out."

The possessed, maddened Undead laughed lowly, its voice cracking several times as its vocal cords seemed to struggle to keep up with any form of noise it made. "A fallen fiefdom is no place to secure passage to another land, wandering knight. Perhaps the docks may hold some respite for you, but you would do well to not hold any hope in your heart. Your victory is not assured, and past these gates lies only suffering for you. It would do you best to turn back before the beast within this place tears you apart and devours you."

Caithas sheathed his sword at last, wary and distrustful of the Undead man in front of him. "You've mentioned this beast twice now, what is it that lurks in the arena itself?"

The Undead man gestured to the bars, as if telling Caithas to look out that way. "In there lies the last champion of Furias himsef, Magnus the Unfettered. He was the greatest gladiatorial champion that Furias had ever seen, and he took pride in his skill. But, pride goeth before the fall, wanderer, and Magnus fell quite spectacularly. This vainglorious champion wielded a great-sword forged in the hellfire forges of Naur, far to the north, and they say that hellfire itself has a connection to demonkind. After the confessor wreaked havoc here, and fled the island, the hellfire within Magnus's blade broke him, body, mind, and soul. Now he is just as much of a beast as the man-wurms and as the cursed Undead that roam the island. Such a vile fate for such a noble man, indeed, a downfall fit for a champion!" The possessed Undead laughed long and loud, head tilting back to the stones above.

The Undead swung a fist at Caithas, who ducked underneath and swiftly unsheathed his sword, leveling the point of the blade at their chest. "You'd do well to not do that again, Hollow. Unless you would wish for that body to die?" Caithas looked rather angered, his mood not tempered by their arrogant tone and his previous frustrations with the lever of the gladiatorial gate.

The possessed creature let out a hoarse chuckle before it glared at the knight. "Do as you will, traveler. This body is disposable, and I could take another with the ease that one would ready their blade. Know that if you strike this body down, that you will have my enmity, and when our paths cross, we will stand as enemies. Would you still slay this damned soul with that knowledge in hand, knowing that you would have the wrath of the last lord of this island upon you?"

Caithas mulled this over for a moment, and after he did so, he moved his sword away and sheathed it. "I will choose to stay my blade, but just for this one occasion. Do anything like that again, and I'll lop the head from the shoulders of the body which you hold in your grip."

The possessed Undead let loose a laugh. "Your will is weak, traveler. You make the bold claim of being a knight from a distant land, and yet the simple threat of a potential enemy is enough to force you to stay your blade? Furias is no place for heroes to walk, Caithas Ildhenn, and you will have this beaten into you if you choose to follow this path. Larandal is far crueler than the sands of Furias could ever hope to be, and if you'd wish to survive there, you would do wisely to heed the words I have spoken."

The Undead man turned, and began to shuffle away, before turning his head with a sickening crunch that chilled Caithas to the bone. "And, before I leave you to find the lost key to this lever, know this. Magnus will maul you further than any man-wurm could, those accursed beasts lurking outside this coliseum. You must know your blade better than you know your own body, or else you will die. Again, and again, you will suffer the little-deaths that drive even the most stalwart of sign-cursed heroes into the depths of madness. I bid you luck, wandering knight, even though it will likely do you no good to rely upon Lady Luck to walk by your side..." Another soul-chilling cackle, and the near-Hollow man was gone.

Caithas felt a wave of revulsion pass through him as he turned away from the gates of the arena and began to walk away. What exactly did the possessed Undead mean when they said that he would die over and over to Magnus if he did not know his own blade? Were they implying that a human cursed with the Darksign could die more than once, fated to an immortality that would erode at their minds? The thought of it caused Caithas to shudder visibly, and he whispered to himself, "So that is why the Darksign is said to be a curse..."

He looked to his right, and saw a dimly lit hallway with stones collapsed so densely that nothing short of a beast could hope to break open a pathway. Wherever this key was, it would surely not be down there. Caithas turned his gaze to his left this time, and saw what looked like a trail of blood leading down a pathway of some sort. He was acutely cautious as he slowly began to walk along the trail of shed blood, his mind screaming that it was a trap. He had no doubts that this path would lead to a trap of some sorts, but he had to follow it, for maybe the key which he sought would lie somewhere along it.

The knight carried his weight as lightly as he could with somewhat-heavy knight's armor adorning his body, and he knew that any creatures lurking nearby could hear the clanking of his greaves upon the silent stones. But, despite any fear of an ambush, he kept on following the stains of ancient blood, which, by the looks of it, had been left by someone presumably trying to drag themselves away from something. The trail seemed to lead off into pitch darkness, but near the dark itself was a small key.

Caithas's conscious screamed that this was a trap, and that he shouldn't take the key, but he defied his fear and reached out, grabbing the small iron key from the molded stones. Nothing came, and to Caithas, that was infinitely more frightening than any beast that could have emerged. It meant that the threat of something still lay there behind the shadows near which he stood. He turned, and began to move away as quickly as he could muster, now uncaring if something were to find him.

After some quick running, Caithas stopped in front of the lever where he had encountered the possessed Undead, hunching over to catch his breath, sweat beginning to bead upon his forehead. A combination of heat, fear, and exertion all combined to bring a sense of total exhaustion to the knight of Arnbeld, but he knew there would be no time to pause. He jammed the key he had found into the lever's lock, and turned it. To his satisfaction, it clicked, making a most pleasing sound even as the key broke within the lock, its grip falling to the stones below.

He gripped the lever with both hands, and began to pull it down, and it seemed to want to work alongside him this time, the lever slowly descending with Caithas's efforts no longer being wasted. He eventually caused it to hit its lowest point, and the lever stopped moving, causing the knight of Arnbeld to look over at the iron gate to the arena. He could hear the sounds of groaning iron seemingly protesting their command to move, but his wish was their command, and one by one, each of the iron bars began a slow descent into the stones from which they were raised.

When this was done, Caithas drew his sword, knowing full well that his greatest challenge lay before him, and he began to stride out into the arena. The sun hit him full force as he took note of mounds of sand scattered all throughout the arena, hints of once-polished stone trying to peek from underneath the grains. The knight noticed what appeared to be an inert suit of armor, perhaps formerly taken care of by its owner. He slowly began to approach it, when he heard it begin to clank and shudder, causing him to take a few steps back.

The armor's right hand rose from the sand, and revealed a pale, gaunt hand with fingers that looked far too long for their own good, which then smashed into the sand, beginning to heft its body up. Inch by dreadful inch, the seemingly discarded armor began to rise from its face-down position, revealing full body gladiatorial armor, cast in gold and yet simultaneously stained with long-dried blood. The face of this beast was covered, as if hiding their identity from the long-dead audience that cried and cried for blood in a gladiatorial duel.

Much to Caithas's horror, however, the creature reached its left hand into the sand, and began to pull out a sword. The blade which it was retrieving looked far too thick and wide to even be called a blade, and on top of that, what seemed to be reddened, pulsing veins traced along the iron body of the sword, small drops of some red liquid falling and seeming to burn the sand underneath. The creature hefted the blade in its left hand, and seemingly glared at Caithas through its mask. Then, it unleashed a horrific, ear-rending roar that quite nearly caused the knight to bring his hands up to his ears.

It was then that he knew that he was facing the last champion of Furias himself, Magnus the Unfettered.


End file.
